


Let Me Go On

by pearl_o



Category: Wilby Wonderful (2004)
Genre: F/M, High School
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-03-26
Updated: 2005-03-26
Packaged: 2017-10-04 04:09:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearl_o/pseuds/pearl_o
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Duck and Sandra, a month before graduation</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Go On

Gretchen Miller and Hal Underwood had gotten back together, and Gretchen had been aiming dirty looks in Sandra's direction all day, glaring at her and giggling and whispering with her friends whenever Sandra looked her way. Sandra had managed to ignore them and keep her head high all through the day, but the period after lunch was study hall with Gretchen and her toady Alice. All things considered, Sandra thought she'd be better off skipping, so when the lunch bell rang, she waved goodbye to Deena and headed out to the grove of trees past the football field.

 

Duck MacDonald was already there, sitting on the ground and leaning back against one of the trees. His eyes were closed and his face looked relaxed. Sandra would have thought he was asleep if it weren't for the cigarette hanging from his mouth.

 

"Hey, Duck."

 

Duck opened one eye. "Hey, Sandra." He gave her a brief half-smile.

 

Sandra sat down across from him and started to rummage through her bag for her own pack of cigarettes.

 

Duck closed his eye again, and didn't say anything else. Sandra lit her cigarette and stared up at the canopy of leaves while she smoked.

 

"So what are you doing out here?" she said after a couple of minutes.

 

The corner of Duck's mouth turned up again. "Same thing as you, I'd think."

 

"Yeah, I guess," Sandra said, though she doubted it, really. Duck probably wouldn't give a shit, in the same situation. Duck wouldn't be in the same situation; he was a guy, for one thng, and it wasn't the same for guys. For another, Sandra wasn't sure she'd ever seen him date at all. He seemed to mostly keep to himself.

 

Sandra sighed and leaned back against the tree trunk. It was rough and scratchy and uncomfortable against her thin sweater.

 

"It's only a couple more weeks," Duck said. When Sandra glanced over at him, he had both his eyes open, looking straight at her with a kind expression on his face. Sandra looked away quickly.

 

"One month and six days until graduation," she said, trying for a light, upbeat voice. She was pretty sure the lump in her throat didn't come through.

 

Either way, Duck just said, "Yeah."

 

Sandra stared resolutely at the grass by her feet. She'd worn her favorite sandals today for the first time this spring. Last night she spent a half hour painting her toenails hot pink. They were chipped already.

 

She heard Duck rustling nearby, and after a minute he sat down next to her and put his arm around her shoulder.

 

For a fraction of a second she thought he was coming onto her, and her mind raced through all her options: how she could fight him off and whether there was anything in her bag she could use as a weapon. Then Duck said really quietly, "Like you said. It's only another month," and she blinked rapidly to try and keep the tears back.

 

"I hate this place." Her voice was quavering, and she hated herself for it just a little. She didn't _care_, she didn't. A month and she'd be off of the island, just like that, and she'd make it on her own. She wouldn't be stuck here anymore, where she knew everybody and everybody knew her business, where they all looked at her like she was a slut or a nobody. Wilby Island wasn't the be-all and end-all of the world. None of this was going to matter.

 

"Yeah, I know," Duck said, squeezing her a little more, and Sandra finally gave in and leaned her head against his shoulder. Duck didn't say anything, but he moved his hand a little and stroked her hair while she cried.

 

After a few minutes, Sandra pulled away, still sniffling a little. Her tissues and her compact were both in her bag, and she got them out and stared at herself in the little mirror while she tried to make herself presentable again. Duck was still watching her, frowning a little, and she gave him a small smile.

 

"Sometimes I just wish I could get out of here, you know?"

 

"I know that feeling."

 

"Really?"

 

Duck shrugged. "Sometimes it feels like the island is the entire world. Like there's no room for anything else here. If you can't make yourself fit, you're out of luck."

 

Sandra swallowed at that and looked back down at her hands. "It's almost time for seventh period. I should probably get back to class."

 

"The class will still be there tomorrow," Duck said easily, and this time Sandra's smile was genuine.

 

* * *

 

Sandra was leaning into the mirror in the girls' bathroom, fixing her mascara, when Deena said, "Oh, and you heard about Duck MacDonald, didn't you?"

 

Deena had been babbling on about the latest gossip since Sandra met up with her after homeroom, but Sandra hadn't been paying too much attention.

 

"What about Duck?" Sandra said.

 

Deena was putting on her own lip gloss. "He got suspended. For fighting, I guess. They were playing baseball in phys ed, and he and Lee Adams were both in the outfield, and they got into a brawl. Lee had to go to the hospital for stitches. I think Duck broke his nose." She smacked her lips once in the mirror and then straightened up again, turning to Sandra and beaming. "You know, you look great today. I love that shirt on you."

 

"Thanks," said Sandra.

 

* * *

 

After school Sandra went back home and put together a package of the cookies she'd made the other day, and then she headed out to the MacDonald house.

 

It was out near the edge of the island, small and a little dingy, but still pretty. There were no cars parked outside, but Duck answered the door when she knocked.

 

"Hi," Duck said through the screen door.

 

"Hi," Sandra said. She smiled awkwardly and shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

 

"You want to come in?" Duck said after a minute, scratching at his neck.

 

"That'd be nice," Sandra said, and Duck stepped back to open the door and let her in. The interior of the house was dark and it took her eyes a couple of seconds to adjust. "I brought you some cookies," she said, still looking around.

 

"Oh. Thanks." Duck took the package from her hand and led her to the kitchen. He set the cookies on the counter and then leaned back against it, folding his arms in front of him.

 

Sandra said, "I heard you got suspended."

 

"Yeah." Duck shrugged a little. "Stuff happens. One week less of English class, right?"

 

Sandra wasn't sure what to say to that, so she just nodded a little in reponse.

 

"Hey," Duck said, "you want something to drink or something? There's beer in the fridge--"

 

Sandra smiled. "That'd be great."

 

* * *

 

They sat on the patio with the booze. The view from there wasn't anything much, just some trees and other houses in the distance, but it was pretty enough.

 

It was getting late, but Sandra had told her parents she was out with friends, and it was true often enough that she was pretty sure they wouldn't doublecheck. Sandra could remember when Duck's dad died, when they were in grade school. She didn't know where Duck's mom was, but from the looks of the house, he might as well be living there alone.

 

Duck was lying on his back, his feet toward the house and his head toward the edge of the porch, so his entire view was upside down. He said, "Sometimes I come out here and I look at all that and I wonder how anybody would want to live anywhere else. How anybody could want to leave it."

 

It was one of the longer speeches Sandra'd heard him make. She looked out towards the view, too. The sun was just beginning to set, and the light was sparkling all over the island, all the colors clear and perfect over the landscape. Wilby was gorgeous.

 

"You're tipsy," said Sandra.

 

Duck laughed. "Just a little, maybe."

 

Duck had gone past a little tipsy a couple of beers ago, but Sandra let it go.

 

She slipped off her lawnchair and stretched out beside Duck on the floor. The view was even prettier upside down. She tilted her head towards Duck; his eyes were closed now, and he was smiling faintly to himself.

 

"So what did you and Lee fight about, then?" Sandra said, trying to make the question as casual as she could.

 

Duck's smile faded a bit, but he didn't open his eyes. "It doesn't matter."

 

Sandra watched him for another minute, but Duck didn't say anything else. He'd pretty much told her what she had wondered about. Lee Adams was an asshole, anyway, but at least she'd figured that out before she went too far with him. That wasn't the story he'd been telling everyone at school, though.

 

"Thanks," Sandra said quietly.

 

Duck shook his head a little and didn't say anything.

 

Sandra pushed herself up to a sitting position and stretched to reach the beers -- another one for her, and another one for Duck.

 

* * *

 

The sunset had faded to the spring twilight, and all the stars were sparkling away overhead. Sandra was holding Duck's hands carefully on her thigh as she painted his fingernails coral. Duck had agreed to it easily when she suggested it, but Duck had pretty much been agreeing and smiling and laughing at everything for a while now. It was kind of fun seeing him like this. Usually Duck had this air of ... _reserve_, maybe, this sense that he was holding back everything, keeping it all to himself. The only time Sandra had seen him outside of that before was when he lost his temper. He'd been suspended for that before, too; sophomore year she'd seen him beat up Nate Gladwell to pulp after he wouldn't stop bullying the nineth graders, and Nate had fifty pounds and a foot and a half on him.

 

Sandra liked this better.

 

She finished the last careful stroke across his nail, and sat back to look at her handiwork. "There. Done."

 

Duck looked down at his own hands. They'd been working on this for ten minutes, but he still looked surprised to see the paint there. "Wow."

 

"Looks good, doesn't it? Be careful," she said, as Duck started to flex his hands and reach up to his hair. "Don't smear it."

 

"I don't think pink is my color," Duck said doubtfully.

 

"It's coral," said Sandra, and that made Duck laugh again too.

 

Duck was really a nice guy, Sandra thought. He was a _good_ guy, and he was nice, and he was quiet and sweet and funny. He was her friend. He liked her.

 

God, Sandra wanted to be with someone who actually _liked_ her, who respected her, who cared about her.

 

She swallowed around the lump in her throat and leaned in closer to Duck, so their faces were almost touching. Duck was still grinning.

 

"Have you ever had sex before?" Sandra whispered, and Duck's smile faltered.

 

"What -- why--?"

 

Sandra kissed him before he could finish. She didn't think he was very experienced, but she didn't know, so she tried to make it as good a kiss as she could. It was pretty much impossible to do with Duck just sitting there like a statue, but after a couple seconds he seemed to relax, and after a couple of seconds more his hand came tentatively up to her hair. That was encouragement, Sandra was pretty sure, so she pushed it, deepening the kiss, bringing Duck's other hand to her waist, moving closer. When they stopped kissing she was sitting in Duck's lap.

 

"Sandra, what..." Duck trailed off, sounding lost. His eyes were looking straight into hers. They were piercing and unsettling, as though he was searching for something in her, but mostly he just looked confused. It made him look younger than he was.

 

Sandra closed her eyes so she wouldn't have to see it, and she rested her head in the crook of Duck's neck. "Shhh. It's all right."

 

"I fucked up the nail polish," Duck said slowly, and Sandra smiled against his skin.

 

"It's all right," she said again, and she pushed him back down to the floor and kissed him again.

 

* * *

 

It wasn't very good. It was awkward and weird and it was over really quickly. Sandra couldn't even tell if Duck was enjoying it that much, honestly. He looked more uncomfortable than anything else -- uncomfortable and clumsy and just as confused as she was. Sandra didn't understand it, though, because part of him seem excited, seemed to be getting more excited as they went on, getting more and more desperate and frantic as he pushed them forward, until it was over and suddenly Duck wouldn't look at her any more.

 

He rolled off of her as soon as it was over, lying on his back and staring straight above him at the pitch black sky. When she reached out and touched his arm, Duck flinched a little. Sandra swallowed to herself and moved further away from him, feeling really empty.

 

Usually when Sandra had slept with a guy before, even if he turned out to be a loser, there was still that moment where this _connection_ happened. Sandra thought maybe that was what she liked best about sex, even more than how good it felt. Hal Underwood had turned out to be king of the arseholes, but that connection had still been there for a moment. They had forged a closeness between them -- they were under each other's skin, and for a minute or two they were part of each other.

 

That hadn't happened with Duck, not even a little. Even when they were kissing, even when he was inside her, he still just felt separate, like somehow he was completely cut off, independent and far away.

 

Right now Sandra felt more alone than she had before.

 

Sandra got up and started searching around for all her clothes. She had to stretch to get her underwear from under the lawnchair. While she was dressing, she glanced back to Duck. He was still lying there, frowning up at the sky.

 

She turned away from him quickly. She was an idiot. She'd messed everything up. And it hadn't even been good -- Duck hadn't even _liked_ it. He was probably thinking about what a horrible lay she had been.

 

Sandra was pulling on her heels when Duck said her name.

 

"Yes?" She didn't turn to face him.

 

"I don't think... This was a really bad--"

 

"Don't." Sandra finished fixing her shoes and pulled on the hem of her skirt to make it hang straight, still carefully not looking back at him. "I'm sorry, Duck. I didn't mean..." She had to stop talking when she cried. She wiped at her face with the back of her hand, feeling suddenly full of anger toward him, too.

 

"It was a really stupid idea," Duck went on. Sandra couldn't quite read his voice, whether he felt angry or embarrassed or stupid, too. He sounded like he was _mad_ at her, more than anything else, and that just made it worse. "What were you thinking? I thought we were _friends_ \-- why did you want to, why would you do that?"

 

"Well, you're really the voice of reason once you've sobered up, aren't you?" Sandra said. She crossed her arms, hugging herself tightly. "Fuck you, Duck."

 

Duck didn't say anything. Sandra stared at the outside of the house and took deep breaths, trying to will herself not to start crying again. It didn't really work, and the sobs started to well out of her, angry and pitiful and stupid.

 

"Hey," said Duck softly. He had stood up, and he was right behind her. The pissed tone had gone out of his voice; mostly now he sounded sad, and a little sorry.

 

She jumped a little as he touched her again, his arms wrapping around her, pulling her back against his body. He hadn't put his shirt back on yet, so she was leaning back against his naked chest. Duck's embrace didn't feel sexual at all, though. Just ... comforting. And warm.

 

"Shh. It's all right, Sandra. It's okay," he muttered into her hair.

 

He held her tight and didn't say anything else, just those words in the same calming voice. Sandra relaxed slowly and leaned her head back against Duck's shoulder while she caught her breath. They stood like that for a while, quiet in the dark.

 

While they were having sex, Sandra had been waiting the entire time to feel that connection, that sudden bond between two people. It hadn't happenedl then, not even an inkling, but standing here hugging in the dark she thought maybe there were other ways to find it.


End file.
